


Paradise

by apodiopsys



Category: Castle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apodiopsys/pseuds/apodiopsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which on a Christmas vacation to the Caribbean they get stranded on an Island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Secret Santa fic exchange at ryanandesposito on livejournal. For whiterwriter, also at livejournal.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Ryan says conversationally, sitting on the beach as his arms rest over his legs, drawn up to his chest. His khakis have been ripped at the knees; the hems are fraying and the way he’s got with his t-shirt ripped and tied over his forehead and chest bare and sun kissed and sweaty makes Javier think he looks kind of like Orland Bloom in almost every single Pirates of the Caribbean movie ever. He doesn’t tell him that, though. They’ve been on the island for two days now and in Kevin’s opinion, that’s about forty-four hours too many. “You said you knew how to sail! And this isn’t even sailing! Javi, there are no sails on the boat. It’s a _yacht._ ”

This is roughly the third time he’s pointed that out. Javier sighs. “I know, I _know_ what it is. I think that the guy I rented the freakin’ yacht from just misunderstood how much fuel I asked for and didn’t give me enough. When we don’t check in three days in a row they’ll send someone for us, be patient.” While his boyfriend is staring out at the open sea (which, hello, that’s one view that you don’t get in New York and who does Kevin have to thank for that? _Yeah._ ) he’s poking a starfish with a stick, watching the arms furl and unfurl. “Look, what I wanted to do was give my amazing boyfriend a holiday on a boat in the Caribbean for Christmas and I saved up for over a year and, yes, it’s a little messed up but we’re wasting it like this and I don’t know about you but I’m going swimming.”

He pulls of his shirt before he’s even up and off the ground, in the water before he even thinks about looking back at Kevin. His boyfriend is shading his eyes, looking in Javier’s direction but he’s not moving to get up. Instead of yelling for him to _come join, that water’s great_ , he does a mini dive into the crisp, cold waves and keeps his eyes closed under water. It’s blissfully quiet there, and all he can hear is water rushing and pounding. The sand is soft under his toes and he wish wish _wishes_ that Kevin wasn’t being a stubborn goat.

Later, after a nap under some palm trees and having the sun dry water off his skin, Javier finds Kevin in their makeshift camp, banging a coconut repeatedly into a rock. He stands there blinking for a while and Kevin says, “I wanted to bring my gun. I could _shoot_ the thing open but I couldn’t bring my gun.” It’s almost amusing to Javier, the way his boyfriend is being so uptight and worried and tense about it. He knows (hopes really, really hard) that help is on it’s way so he figures they might as well have fun while they’re at it, could pretend they’re the new cast for LOST or something.

“I would have had to get all sorts of papers and shit if I wanted to get our guns over here,” he says mildly. “And anyway, this is supposed to be a vacation so why would we need our guns anyway?” He ignores Kevin when he mutters _to shoot our boyfriends with,_ and leans over him, snatching the coconut out of his grip so he can open it properly against the rock.

“How did you -” Kevin starts, and Javier cuts him off, saying, “My mom used to be big on fresh coconut milk and I was the only one who could get them open for a while.” He offers both halves to Ryan, one in each hand. Kevin takes only one, gesturing for him to keep the other and drinks from it, watching Javier over the top of his half of the coconut. When he’s done, he offers him a small smile and says in a small voice, “I’m sorry.”

Javier smiles widely back at him and says, “Here, you should try some of the meat.”

&  


Ryan brings him a stack of wood, previously laid out on the sand to dry in the sun. He’s crouching by the ring of stones they’d put in the center of the clearing for a fire, stacking the broken logs and branches so they’ll burn easier. “Hand me that little stick over there?” Javier asks, looking up at Kevin who is standing off to the side, staring at his boyfriend. This is the second time he’s watched him build a fire and he only vaguely gets the concept of it.

He brings him the stick he asked for and kneels next to him, pale skin shaded darker to match Javier’s, due to being out in the sun for prolonged time. “How do you -” he starts, watching as he starts rubbing the stick between his hands against a mostly smooth rock. Javier is biting his tongue, pink tip sticking out between his lips and he looks concentrated the same way he does when he’s at his desk, going over a new piece of evidence or sitting on the floor in the apartment, doing their taxes. It’s cute.

“Four years of boyscouts and three of pathfinders,” Javier finally answers, voice laced with something that Kevin has learned to associate with him being _smug._ The stick is smoking at the end and he’s leaning over to blow gently on it, keeping it up until there’s a small flame at the end of it. “Don’t breathe,” he whispers, cupping his hand protectively around the flame as he uses it to light different pieces of grass and leaves he’d put in the center of the fire. It takes a few minutes for all of the greens and then the wood to catch alight and by then it’s slowly getting dark.

The skies turn pink and orange and red and then light blue and navy and finally black, all in the space of about fifteen minutes. It starts to get cold faster than it gets dark, and Kevin is thankful for the fire that his boyfriend built (and he’s even more thankful for the fact that his boyfriend is like a walking furnace, pressing up against him and plastering to his side.

“We should be sleeping on the boat,” he grumbles softly, and looking out at the water in the distance he can see the boat tied up to a tree on the beach, bobbing in the waves offshore. Javier knows that he isn’t actually isn’t that bothered about sleeping on the beach. His arm slides around Kevin’s waist, fingers curling around his hip protectively, as if to keep him where he is by his side.

“Stay with me,” Javier says, nosing at the side of Kevin’s neck. He nips playfully, mouthing into his skin, “Sleep on the sand and watch the stars.”

It’s not like Kevin can argue with logic that’s presented like that so he closes his eyes and listens to the waves pulling up on the beach, contrasting so hard to the usual sounds of traffic and city night-life that he’s used to hearing back in New York. It’s a welcomed change, so much calmer. Even though they’re sleeping on some random island in the middle of the Caribbean because something went wrong in cyberspace and misunderstandings do happen, Kevin feels so much more relaxed than he has in months.

&  


Kevin stands on the beach and watches as Javier uses his makeshift spear - a knife from the boat ducktaped to a branch - to fish. It won’t work - Kevin knows it, Javier knows it, they both know it - but for some reason he’s trying anyway, standing still yards away from the dry sand with the spear poised to strike. It’s shallow water for almost a hundred yards, and if Kevin put his hand up his boyfriend would be the length of the tip of his middle finger to the bottom of his palm.

He’s sitting down, feet tucked into the soft golden sand when Javier finally turns and props the spear into the sand, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice in a makeshift megaphone. “Come join me!” he calls, and Kevin shakes his head even though he knows that the chances of him actually seeing the movement are slim to none. He definitely can’t see Javier (more importantly, Javier’s facial expressions) from where he’s sitting but from the slope of his shoulders and the set of his neck he can visualize the pout on his lips and glittering in his eyes. The water is cold, but refreshingly so. It makes everything seem a little sharper and where things were dull and lazy and sleepy in the sun moments ago it’s all blue and gold and orange, brilliant and _alive_. Kevin wants to drink from the water but the problem there is salt.

“It’s good, right?” Javier says, grabbing his wrists and pulling Kevin close. He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, just kisses him the way he always does: like he means it. The kiss is like his mood, like the weather, good and infectious and he Kevin rocks up on his toes in the soft sand, making it so that they’re almost exactly the same height and he can control things a little better. His fingers press into his shoulders, turning tanned and sunburnt skin near-white in the near constant pressure. A wave knocks them over. They manage to stay connected, lips caught underwater in a kiss that’s both too salty and too wet.

It’s perfect.

They cough up water when they surface, dripping from his eyelashes and hair. Kevin’s hair curls prettily; the sun gives him freckles on the normally pale skin of his cheekschestshouldersback and Javier vows to map them all out with his lips at a later point. They both laugh, breathless, and Kevin kisses him again, pushing him into the sandy shallows and licking the salty taste out of his mouth until all that’s left is Javier - there’s none of the coffee that’s there ninety eight percent of the time, none of the celebratory whiskey from after a case, no salt. It’s all purly _him._ Kevin pulls away and then grins, leaning in and kissing him again, closed mouth and sweet.

Javi opens his mouth to say something, but then there’s the sound of a horn and people yelling in the distance. His mouth snaps shut; they both look confused. They’d gotten used to the quiet, the peaceful serenity of an Island without cars and sirens and helicopters, constant music and people and _noise_. There’s another boat less than half a mile away from them, a small group of people on it jumping and waving and yelling. “A rescue party!” Javier says, and then, “I told you so.” Kevin counts to ten so that he doesn’t punch him for the smug look and stands up, waving towards their rescuers instead.


End file.
